Bay of Sighs (30 page)

Hearing how relaxed she sounded, seeing all the strain had vanished from her face, Sawyer understood Bran's reasons for waiting another day or two.

Riley had it right, too. They needed the break.

“I could paint her for years,” Sasha continued. “And I likely will. But this one's for you.”

“For—for me?”

“Absolutely.” While she sipped her Bellini, Sasha studied her work with a critical eye. “I need maybe another hour with it, just to punch it up, then it's yours. Just like she is.”

“But I can't take her, can I?”

“We're in a world of miracles and magicks. I'm going to believe in both.”

“This painting. It means a lot, more than I can tell you. I need to give you something for it. Not money,” he said when she started to pull away. “I get that, and it'd be insulting between us. But when this is over, when we've done what we're meant to do, if you want that conversation with Monet, I'll take you.”

She gasped, bounced on her toes, grabbed him in a hug. “Oh, my God! Sawyer, that would be— Oh, my God! I have to brush up, big-time, on my French.”

“With just one down and two to go, I figure there's time.”

“Riley will find the Bay of Sighs, then we'll have two, and one to go. I just . . . I haven't felt where we go from here. Have you?”

He shook his head. “No hints from the compass yet.”

“It'll come, for both of us. And you need another day, at least, before we pick all this up again. So, tomorrow it's you.”

“It's me what?”

“I'm going to paint you tomorrow. I haven't figured out what I'm after with you yet.” She stepped back a pace, studied him with a keen and curious eye that made him feel . . . goofy.

“But it's you,” she said firmly.

“It already feels weird.”

But he took a seat in the sun, and looked forward to having a beer with friends.

S
awyer knew he was well on the mend when Doyle ordered him into training—on the light side—in the morning. And he managed five pull-ups before his shoulder screamed like a woman getting a hard pinch on the ass. Maybe it scored the pride, a little, when Sasha did five, then gutted her way through a sixth.

“I'm not last.” Sliding to the ground, panting, Sasha wagged a fist in victory. “I'm not last.”

“Hey, bum shoulder. Near-death experience.”

“I don't care. Today, this fine day, I'm not last. And you're on breakfast detail.”

Maybe he shouldn't have been so impatient to get back to it all.

But he could admit to relief when he didn't want to crawl back into bed after an hour's activity. And when he
did
crawl back into bed again, with Annika, he'd do something—at last—besides sleep.

So that did make it a very fine day.

Though it did feel weird, he posed for Sasha—mostly because she hounded him. He stood for an hour—another triumph—wearing his guns, left hand on the butt of one, compass held in the other.

At one point Riley wandered out.

“Did you find something?” he demanded.

“No—and you and Doyle can stuff it. I'm taking a break. The guy who knows what we want to know should be available tomorrow.”

“Hope you get him before you wolf out.” Hip cocked now, the thumb of the hand holding the compass hooking in his pocket, Sawyer sent Riley a quick, insolent grin. “Hey, you could bark in Morse code.”

Riley merely shot up her middle finger, studied the painting. “Yeah, you're getting him, Sash, right down to the beady little eyes.”

“You need to do Rile here in wolf form, Sasha. An action shot. Like when she's scratching at fleas.”

“I don't have—” Riley hissed out a breath; Sasha just kept working.

“Do you believe in reincarnation?” she asked Riley.

“Absolutely. One go-round? What's the point?”

“I strongly believe the two of you were siblings in another life. And I do want to paint you in wolf form. And as you are now.”

“I don't think—”

“All sides of us,” Sasha interrupted, and chose another brush. “Now that I've started, I know it's something I need to do. Do you need a break, Sawyer?”

“I'm good, unless you do.”

“I'd like to keep going—until you tell me you need a break. And you have to tell me. Painting helps me focus, and she's trying to get in.”

“What? Nerezza?” Riley squeezed Sasha's shoulder. “I'll get Bran.”

“No, it's all right.” Calmly, Sasha worked on Sawyer's hair—he had a lot of it—sweeping in sunstreaks. “I'm all right, and he's busy. Annika's helping him mix medicines. I want Nerezza to try, and if I feel she's getting through, we'll get Bran.” Focused, Sasha continued to paint, switching brushes to detail the curve of Sawyer's fingers on the compass. “I don't want to push back today, just block. I can't explain why—”

“You don't have to.” With her hand still on Sasha's shoulder, Riley exchanged a look with Sawyer. “All you need to do is tell Sawyer when and if you need Bran, or anything else.”

“That's right.” Without realizing it, Sawyer took a firmer grip on his gun.

“It's like—you can tell Bran when you go back in, Riley—it's like she's playing with me, just trying to distract me. I know she's waiting, waiting for Malmon to fully become. There's more but . . . it's as if she wants me to try to see.”

“Maybe misdirection?”

“I don't know, Riley. But I feel, I
know
she's trying to lure me, and I'm not falling for it. Just as I know this interlude we've had, this really lovely break from searching, from fighting, from bleeding, is nearly done.”

“Then let's enjoy it while it lasts.” Giving Sasha's shoulder a final squeeze, exchanging a last look with Sawyer, Riley went back inside to tell Bran everything.

He watched her while she painted him. Flicked a glance up once when he saw Bran come out on the terrace, obviously checking for himself if he was needed.

Shortly after, Doyle strolled out, angled a chair, and sat, gaze on Sasha's back. So Riley had made the rounds, Sawyer thought, and one way or another, Sasha was guarded.

He relaxed a little, let his mind drift a little. Wished Annika would come out. He wondered if, when they had the stars, when they found the Island of Glass and returned them—not if, but when—there would be time, just a few days, for him to be with her. Without war and vengeful gods, without responsibilities and risk.

It didn't seem like much to ask, those few days.

“Have you told her you love her? I feel it,” Sasha said. “It's so strong, I can't not feel it. Have you told her?”

“What good would it do? It seems like it would only make her sad. I don't want her to go back with regrets.”

“I don't think a heart like Annika's ever regrets love. And I believe love makes its own miracles.”

“The moon's about to turn.” He could see the ghost of it behind the bold blue sky. “After that, she gets two more. Some people get lifetimes, some get moments. I've got to tell myself it's what you do with what you get that counts.”

“I believe that, too. I've come to believe exactly that. Don't you regret what you didn't say, didn't do.”

Lowering her brush, studying the canvas, she stepped back. “That's it for now. I can finish it without you.” To loosen them, she rolled her shoulders. “And we can both use a break.”

Ready for that break, he walked over, stood beside her to see the work.

“Well, wow.”

“You like it?”

“Yeah. It's . . . again, wow.”

She'd painted him with the hills rising at his back, everything sunbaked, brilliant, alive.

“How do you get the light to just . . . pour like that?”

“Trick of the trade.”

He shook his head. “Scope of the talent. I know it's here, because I know those hills, but the way you've painted the background, it could be anywhere with hills, mountains, sky.”

“That's what I wanted, because that's the scope of your gift. And you look out from the painting knowing it, sure in it. Riley helped with that.”

“Riley?”

“I couldn't get what I wanted from you until she did, and you got loose, poked at her, grinned with it. That's you, Sawyer. Hand on your gun, ready to fight when you must, compass in your hand, ready to travel where you're needed. But just as ready for a friend.”

“You made it glow—the compass.”

“It did glow.”

“No, it didn't. I'd have felt it.”

“It glowed for me.” She hesitated when, as he still held it, he looked down at it. “It may be I just saw what it will do, or has done,” she told him.

But she knew better. It had glowed, soft, steady, when he'd thought of Annika.

H
e waited until after the evening meal, after the decision to wait one more full day before diving again. He wouldn't argue that, because with what he hoped to do, he might need that extra recovery day.

“With any luck when we do go out, I'll have a location, or at least a direction. We'll know where we want to be,” Riley concluded.

“Good enough. Now, Annika needs the sea.”

Bran nodded at Sawyer. “I'll take her down later.”

“No, I'll take her.” As Doyle shook his head, Sawyer aimed a pointed look. “I wouldn't say I'd take her if I wasn't sure I could, and it won't be here, where Nerezza may sniff us out. I've got a place she can have some freedom.”

“You're not a hundred percent, Sawyer,” Riley began.

“No, but I'm closer, and this is something I've been doing for a while now. I know what I can handle. I wouldn't take chances with Annika, with any of us.”

“The pool is very nice. I'm happy with it.”

“You need the sea. You'll be stronger for it. And I need to work muscles other than biceps. I need to tune up, and this is a way to do both. Can you trust me for this?”

“I do. I trust you for anything,” Annika said.

“We need to know where you are, and a time frame.” Bran glanced around the table. “That's nonnegotiable.”

“Two hours. That gives Annika plenty of sea time, and me some recharge time if I need it. I don't feel like I will, but if I do, that's enough. And where?”

He blinked away, and seconds later, blinked back with a map.

“Show-off.” But Riley grinned.

“Just demonstrating I'm coming off the DL. We'll be here.”

“But . . . the South Pacific?” Sasha looked at Bran, worry in her eyes. “It's so far.”

“It's one of my places—it's . . . like driving home.”

“Can you get there?” Sasha asked Bran.

“If needed, yes.”

“And how's this? If I think or feel hard enough, will you be able to read me? If I can try to let you know we're there safe.”

“I can try.” Sasha nodded. “I can try. Bran can help. It's just so far away.”

“It's one of my places,” Sawyer repeated, and slid a small duffle out from under the table.

“What's in there?” Riley demanded.

“Nothing much.” He held out a hand for Annika's. “Ready?”

“It's nine. Curfew's eleven. Sharp,” Sasha added.

“Yes, Mom. Let's go.”

When they vanished, Doyle picked up his beer. “So do you think he's going all the way to the South Pacific to bang her?”

“Not just, but it's a factor.”

Sasha poked Riley's shoulder. “He needs to do this, needs to rebuild his confidence. He nearly died, and he's been weak and shaken. Anni needs the sea; he needs to give it to her.”

“The sex is just the bonus round,” Riley decided.

“They've two hours for the sea, for confidence building, for sex.” And to make the point, Bran flicked his wrist. An old-fashioned hourglass sat in the center of the table. “It's on two hours. Last grain of sand falls through, I go.”

“I like it. I already set the alarm on my watch,” Riley added as she studied the glass. “But this is much cooler.”

“He's taking his moments,” Sasha told him, then went still. “I . . .” She reached for Bran's hand, drew from him. “I feel them. I feel them. They're safe.”

S
awyer brought them right to the verge of land where the surf rolled, smooth and gentle under star-struck skies. It felt as if he'd taken a good, solid jog—and that worked for him.

“Oh, Sawyer.” In absolute delight, she spun, then stood, one foot in sea, one on shore.

“Great spot, huh?”

“It's wonderful. I've been here before.”

“Really?”

“Yes, with my family. Many times.”

“How do you know?”

“I know the water—the sea—like you know a road. It's the best I can explain. This place, these waters, we come on . . .” Annoyed with herself she shook back her hair. “I can't remember the word. A journey to a special place. A holy place.”